by Carla Kelly
The great hall reeked of death and that intangible odor she knew was the bitterness of defeat. She saw blood everywhere, soaking into the hay – thank you again, old woman.
Carlos lay in the hay, but a woman knelt beside him, wiping his face, scolding him gently, the way women do, who care. Hanneke saw a dead man beside her, and knew somehow that it was her son. “Bless you for tending this man, even in your hour of need,” she said softly. “Bless you.”
Manolo lay in Santiago’s lap, raised up because breathing had become one long gasp. She knelt beside him and took his boneless hand.
“Engracia?” he managed, after several moments of gulping and swallowing his own blood.
“Manolo, here is your son,” she said, speaking distinctly, unsure of how much he could hear. She held the baby out to Santiago, who had wrapped his arms around his brother.
Santiago held the infant close to his brother’s battered chest. Manolo looked, his eyes going in and out of focus. He tried to raise his hand to touch his son, but he was too weak. Hanneke placed his hand on the child.
“Better,” he murmured, his voice drowsy, but full of an emotion so close to contentment that she didn’t try to stop her tears. He opened his eyes with the look of a man who wants to sleep, but knows he must be polite to his guests.
“A name, brother, a name,” Santiago said. Hanneke saw tears filling his eyes and making a path through the dirt and blood on his face.
Manolo moved his finger across his son’s cheek. “Rodrigo.”
“Our father? But…”
“Rodrigo,” Manolo said more firmly, almost sounding like Manolo of mere hours ago. “Promise.”
“I promise.”
Manolo turned his attention to his son at the same time the dam in his lungs broke loose and blood poured from his mouth. Santiago quickly lifted his nephew off Manolo’s chest and held out the baby to Hanneke.
Manolo coughed, trying to clear his throat as the blood ran from his nose, too. He opened his eyes wide in terror and reached for Santiago, who held him close as he died.
Chapter Thirty
Santiago lowered his brother to the blood-drenched hay. Not looking away from Manolo, he reached up and fingered the infant’s wet hair. “Some would say I have now killed him twice,” he said. “Once twenty-two years ago, and again tonight. Will it be enough, Ana?”
“You can’t blame yourself,” she said as she cuddled Rodrigo, breathing deep of his newborn fragrance. The gentle odor calmed her.
“Others will. I will take Rodrigo back to his mother. I will tell Engracia that her husband is dead.” He shuddered and Hanneke put her arm around him.
“Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“Please, my love.”
He looked up from his contemplation of Manolo. “Say that again.”
“Please,” she teased, which made him smile.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
Did she? She chose her words most carefully. In all the noise, tumult and raw emotion since the army’s defeat, she decided to claim a little corner of peace for her husband, for herself. Whether they had years ahead or hours, she decided not to waste a moment. Their beginning had been something to forget, but it was only a beginning. She was married. She was here. She had saved his life at the river. Was he perfect? Who was?
In that moment, Hanneke Aardema Gonzalez forgave this man of the sin of being human, because she knew he was sublimely worth it. She also knew he had no more choice in the matter of their marriage than he did. The knowledge liberated her and gave her serenity, even in the middle of carnage and chaos.
“Love you? I know I do,” she said, feeling oddly shy. “You speak to me of time later on, when the land to the south is conquered, but what about right now? I love you – I choose to love you – right now.” She tucked her arm through his. “I am coming upstairs with you.”
“It won’t be good, I assure you,” he said.
“I know that, my love. Why must you face it alone?”
“Come, then.”
“One moment. Do you love me, Santiago?”
“I know I do,” he echoed with no hesitation, and a half smile. She handed him the baby.
They walked upstairs in silence. Hanneke opened the door to Engracia’s room. She walked beside her husband to the bed and knelt beside him. He laid Rodrigo in Engracia’s arms, then quietly told her what happened.
Engracia stared at him, disbelieving, as her face turned to stone. In silence, she turned away from him. “I will never look upon you again,” she whispered.
“As you wish, dear sister,” he replied. “Only know that I will protect Las Claves with my last breath so Rodrigo will inherit.”
“Liar,” she said in that stone cold voice.
He flinched and Hanneke took his arm. He helped her to her feet and glanced at Juana. “Get her and Rodrigo ready to ride.”
“She can’t possibly ride,” Juana snapped as she grabbed the baby from Engracia. “What are you saying?”
“I am telling you we have been defeated. One of my men will carry her. If Engracia remains, she will be captured. I will not pay a ransom, not if she willfully goes against sound advice.”
Engracia began to weep. When Hanneke touched her shoulder, she shook off the friendly hand. “You are as evil as your husband. Leave me alone.”
Hand in hand, without a backward glance, they left the room of mourning and spite. He walked Hanneke to their room, then stopped.
“Ana, in all this turmoil, I forgot about Felipe Palacios. Where in God’s name is he?”
“I haven’t seen him. He did as you thought he would – found a place to hide.”
He looked around, indecisive. “I want to find him. I have questions now. Do you suppose he will magically appear when the choice comes to leave Las Claves or endure El Ghalib?”
“Perhaps,” she said.
He leaned against the door, quiet and thoughtful. His silence was interrupted by shouts of “Antonio is here!” then “Santiago! Santiago!”
“There is no time to think.” He held her close for a too-brief moment, then ushered her into their room. “I hope I do not regret… damn Felipe anyway. Dress warmly. Take only the necessities. I will go below, but please remain here until I call for you.”
“I would rather be with you.”
He started to reply, but Antonio, wrapped tight against the cold, started up the stairs, calling for him.
“What news?” Santiago demanded, as he ran down the stairs.
I’m not staying here, Hanneke thought, and hurried after him. Santiago turned around in exasperation, then managed a rueful smile. “Do you never listen to anyone? You can’t fight this battle.”
“She already has,” Luis said at the foot of the stairs. “She didn’t listen to me and opened the gates to Jewish peddlers.”
“Ana, after I specifically told you…”
“What’s more, she sent them on with a plea for help to the Knights of Calatrava,” the one-armed man said. “She might be our salvation.”
“How much time do we have, Antonio?”
“An hour at best. This gives us time to make the northern pass,” Antonio replied. “We ten held them off as long as we could.” He sighed. “Now we are five.”
“Pablo?” Hanneke asked in sudden fear. “Please, please.”
Antonio indicated with his head. She saw her faithful knight of the pots and pans squatting on his haunches by Carlos. “He was brave, and here he is.” He returned his attention to Santiago. “Know this: Our little army mauled them, back on the plain. They are moving slowly.”
Santiago pulled Hanneke to him and glanced around the hall at the wounded men. She saw Carlos with a bandage on his face, courtesy of the woman with the dead son. Other women, those with living husbands or sons, watched Santiag
o warily.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are they looking at you that way? It’s as if they fear you.”
“They do. I hate this,” he said softly. “Please go upstairs.”
“No. I can help.”
“You cannot.” He held her off with hands on her shoulders. “You might not understand this. You will be my witness, if you will not leave.”
His face impassive, he walked to the center of the now-silent hall. Even Father Bendicio stopped his prayers. Hanneke tried to follow Santiago, but Antonio pulled her back.
“This is a harsh thing, Ana,” he said, keeping his voice low in the now-awful stillness. “We either stay and die or we run and fight another day.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. Stay here. I mean it.”
She retreated to the stairs and sat down. Santiago raised his hand. He took a deep breath and broke her heart.
“People of Las Claves, I cannot protect you any longer. We have lost. You men who can ride, find your mounts. Women, take your men who can walk, and your children. We will finish in here. Go now.”
“Finish in here. What does he mean? Antonio?”
Antonio was already helping Carlos to his feet, directing Pablo to move him away from the hall. Hanneke braced herself against the wailing and clamor she knew would follow Santiago’s words, but there was only silence. She watched as women and children sprang into action, prodding wounded men to their feet. They struggled toward the door of the great hall, urging and cajoling.
A few remained, tugging at their men, pleading with those who could not rise. Hanneke stood up to help, but Antonio held up his hand to stop her.
“Go upstairs, Ana,” he ordered, his voice both urgent and adamant. “Put on your warmest clothing, but don’t bother with anything else. Your mule will be ready in the courtyard.”
She tried to reason with him. “These women need help. Can’t you see that?” She looked over his shoulder to see these remaining women in tears, tugging at men who could not move. “Antonio, why are you stopping me?”
He startled her, grabbing her close to his body, as if to shield her from every bad thing. More gently than she would have imagined, he put his hand to her head and rested it against his chest. He whispered, “Ana, Ana, please. We can do no more for these men, and we will not leave them to be tortured.”
“I don’t understand!” she sobbed.
“You do. They cannot ride. If we leave them still alive, El Ghalib and his men will do terrible things to them.” She felt his sigh. “I have seen what they can do. So have you.”
She raised her head, not leaving the comfort of his arms, to watch Father Bendicio administer what she knew was Extreme Unction, not over one man, but over the remaining men. A woman tried to push him away, then screamed as another woman ran into the hall and dragged her away.
Clutching Antonio, Hanneke watched Santiago take out his knife and kneel by the dying man. He made the sign of the cross on the man’s forehead, then slit his throat in one practiced stroke.
Antonio covered her eyes. “I must help Santiago. Go upstairs and do not look back.”
She wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. “Is this day going to end?”
“They all do, eventually. Go, little one. You have already done more good here than you can possibly imagine.”
She walked up the stairs as Santiago and Antonio killed the men too wounded to move. She heard the weeping, begging women, and knew she would hear them every time she closed her eyes.
Numb, she found a warmer dress and put it on, lacing it tight, then pulled on another one, and more hose. There was nothing more she wanted in the room. Her hand went to El Ghalib’s gold necklace and she almost took it off, wanting nothing more to do with someone so terrible.
She jumped at screams coming from Engracia’s room, but she was in no mood to cajole her sister-in-law or suffer Juana’s paltry meanness. She couldn’t go downstairs. She resigned herself to the inevitable and went to Engracia, finding her struggling to sit up, her eyes wide with terror.
“He will not leave me behind, will he?” she asked Hanneke.
Hanneke reeled back as if she had been slapped. “No! Never.”
“Why not? It would be so easy for him to kill me and dispose of my baby. Las Claves would be his.”
“Gracia, Gracia, I’m here to keep you and your child safe from Santiago Gonzalez.”
Hanneke gasped as Felipe Palacios brushed past her, looking as tidy and clean as if he had come from the king’s own tailor. “What are you saying?” she demanded. “Where have you been hiding?”
Felipe barely glanced at her. “Santiago Gonzalez will do anything to get Las Claves for himself. He even married a fisherman’s daughter for ready cash. I’ll protect your interests, sister.”
“How dare you even suggest such a thing,” Hanneke said, appalled.
He sniffed. “At least you don’t smell of herring.”
There was so much Hanneke wanted to say, but the brave woman inside her counseled against wasted words, not with time at such a premium. She settled for, “Someone will smite you someday,” in the language of the Netherlands.
She left the room without a backward glance and walked down the stairs, preferring the company of death.
Chapter Thirty-one
Hanneke did not hesitate in the great hall. One woman – a young girl, really – her belly big with child, tugged at her husband’s corpse, pleading with him. His throat had been cut and his head had collapsed into his neck, but still she tried to lift him, stopping only to gasp for breath, and look around for help.
Hanneke did not hesitate. She grasped the dead man under his arms. “My sister,” she began, her voice calm, “where should we take him?”
The girl stared at her, then sank to her knees, the spell of death broken. Hanneke lowered the body to the straw again and knelt beside the woman, who threw herself across her husband’s body.
“Please help us,” Hanneke begged of two soldiers who could walk, standing in the doorway. “Please help her outside. Find out if she has people here.”
One of the men limped toward her. “I know her family. We will help her.”
She remained by the body as one of the soldiers picked up the woman and carried her from the hall. Hanneke wanted to rise, but she felt the same exhaustion that had claimed her in the early days after her miscarriage. When did I last sleep, she asked herself, as she stared at the dead man.
Santiago squatted beside her and she leaned against him. “Is it done?” she asked.
“It is done. Now we must leave. Most of the villagers have already started for the pass,” he said. He sat down and held her close.
She hated to burden him further. “Felipe is upstairs, convincing Engracia that he will protect her from you, who would leave her behind, kill her child and claim Las Claves for yourself.”
“I wish I could say that surprised me,” he said. “I have been thinking about Felipe in a different light, not very appealing. I think I know why he is here.”
She started to speak, but he put bloody fingers to her lips. “Don’t think this impossible, but he might be in league with El Ghalib.” He searched her face. “Ah, you see that possibility, too?”
She nodded.
“Felipe knew our numbers here,” Santiago said. “He must know the dowry terms. If I die in battle…”
“Please don’t say that!” she begged
“Hush, hush, chiquita,” he said, after a quick kiss. “If I die, who will rush in to marry you for that dowry? Felipe Palacios. Avoid the man, my love. I know he will never persuade you, but he could force you.”
Could he be right? She touched his face, noting where the winter sun had scoured it. “We can have this discussion over a campfire tonight,” she said, hopeful. She saw Engracia carried by Felipe
, coming down the stairs, Juana with Rodrigo in her arms.
Santiago jumped to his feet. “No!” he shouted. “Anyone but Juana should be carrying Manolo’s child.”
Hanneke rose slowly, seeing the anguish on her husband’s face. Was this how it was, all those years ago, when a baby was abandoned that Juana confused with another? When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she stepped between her husband and Juana.
“Husband, please.” She spoke calmly, her hand against his chest.
“I will not allow her to carry Manolo’s son in a retreat.” His voice shook with more intensity than she could remember, even more than in the clearing with Jawhara.
Funny that she should mention Jawhara, with Felipe standing before her, his face bland. What is your connection with El Ghalib? Good God, is Santiago right? she asked herself, appalled. I fear you far more than Juana carrying Manolo’s baby.
“My love, are you afraid that she will leave him, as Manolo was left, as you should have been?” Hanneke stood her ground. “Let’s have this out right now.”
Everyone else in the great hall hurried to gather up possessions, or wandered aimlessly, wondering what to do. They stood by the stairs, no one moving.
To her relief, Santiago took her hand. “My love, that is what I fear,” he said, speaking only to her. “I have enough on my conscience. Not this, too.”
He kissed her hand and she moved closer. “Then let it end here. Juana, will you protect the son of Manuel Gonzalez?”
“With my life,” the servant declared.
“Please, husband,” Hanneke said. “For your peace of mind, please.”
“Very well,” he said, after a long pause.
Hanneke turned to Juana. “You heard him. Now I exact a condition from you.”
“Señora Gonzalez, you are wasting time,” Felipe Palacios said.
“Be quiet,” she snapped. “Juana?”
“Yes,” Juana said, her voice louder. Whatever contrition she had felt seemed to retreat.
